Never After
by Karasu Yurei
Summary: My take on what Subaru is doing after leaving the Seals (Fuuma/Kyou, Fuuma/Subaru, Kyou/Subaru, Seishirou/Subaru, part 1/?)


Never After  
  
IAuthor's note: Subaru will get a personality. I promise. But give him a break, he's in shock, sort of. Other notes, a Siamese Fighting Fish is a Betta, but they've been Siamese fighting fish since I was two. I swear this 'Betta' thing is new. And before anyone says anything, Subaru's Ceremonial Dagger isn't a dagger. Daggers are double edged and straight. The knife he has is actually a Tanto, I think. It's short enough, at any rate, but it might be something more specific.  
  
Warnings: Yaoi. Fuuma/Kyou, Fuuma/Subaru, Kakyou/Subaru, Seishirou/Subaru. Rated PG-13 for now, but not for long, wahahaha and all that.  
  
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, but I like to pretend they are. Feedback welcome. Flames too. They make me giggle./I  
  
  
  
Chapter One  
  
He wasn't quite sure what was worse. Or more pathetic. If he was going to be honest with himself, the situation was a bit sad, really. Moping in a self-induced coma upwards of nine years because his first love had died.  
  
Few things could top it.  
  
But the Sakurazukamori was certainly trying. He had a flair for dramatics, Kakyou would give him that.  
  
Sleeping through life was one thing, but you really had to be into self torture to become one with someone else's eyeball. How weird was that?  
  
It was almost enough to make him want to wake up and slap some sense into the Sumeragi. If his sister found out, Kakyou would never hear the end of it.  
  
Something had to be done. And done soon.  
  
Hokuto had a most piercing shriek when she got going.  
  
There were other factors to take into account as well, such as how much angst one building could physically hold and the small matter of the coming apocalypse. Hokuto, in all honesty, was hardly a threat. The longer one was dead, the harder it was for them to linger, taking up space with the living. Kakyou only saw her once a year at most. Nothing to build romances out of, really.  
  
And Kakyou thought to himself, IScore one for me. I'm in love with the memory of being in love./I He might have admitted to the need for anti- depressants if you really pressed him on the subject, but he would first point out that he didn't, at this point, expect to live long enough for it to matter.  
  
His mind drifted back to the subject at hand. And as his mind drifted, so did the Dream in which he sat, the clear pool at his feet showing him the waking world.  
  
He sat on a stylish globe of nothingness, toes bent towards the nebulous 'ground', elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He watched Sumeragi Subaru, reluctant Sakurazukamori, misplaced Seal, and Sad Excuse for an Angel, drift through Sakurazuka Seishirou's home and belongings, his mismatched eyes searching for hope he couldn't quite seem to find. Kakyou was sure there was a backbone in there somewhere. It was just taking a while to rise to the surface.  
  
'Kamui' would retrieve the Sumeragi tomorrow; Kakyou saw it coming. The whole scene reminded him remarkably of a train wreck. Right down to the breaking glass, hysterics, and survivors' guilt. Really, what Uhad/U Hokuto been thinking? Sometimes that girl's head just didn't seemed to be screwed on quite right.  
  
*#*#*#*  
  
To simply call her short would have been both an insult and an understatement. More accurately, she was petite. Small frame, short stature, tiny hands. She was almost childlike in appearance. Her straight black hair pooled around her as she knelt on the sakura blanketed ground. Had she been standing, it would have trailed nearly to her feet. She wore a traditional kimono, its unrivaled white marred in two places: the pentagram embroidered over her heart and the right sleeve, which was splattered in blood. Her right hand also was coated in blood, and her eyes were wide and honey brown.  
  
Subaru stared down at her as she knelt at his feet. This was the face of the Sakura. There was something disturbingly familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it. "Please? I'm hungry."  
  
The resemblance to a child was only skin deep. Her left hand was planted firmly on his knee and her right blood soaked hand skimmed up his thigh, leaving a trail of blood. "Kill for me?" He voice was low and soft. If sound could have smell or taste, her voice would have been sakura and blood. Her hand slipped under his shirt.  
  
Subaru tried to tell himself it was just a nightmare and took a stumbling step back from her. There was really nowhere to hide. There was nothing here but the Sakura. The Tree stood tall and ominous, its roots sinking into a blood and petal strewn nothingness. The Sakura was the centre of this world; beyond didn't exist.  
  
She rose to her feet to keep contact. "It's not a dream. You are mine now, just like I wanted when we first met." Her mouth curled into a sweet and hungry smile. She took another step forward, forcing her would-be Guardian to give way again.  
  
Soon his back hit something solid. Rough and old. The Tree itself now held him up from behind. He was trapped between the spirit of the Sakura and its physical form. "I've been denied your blood three times, but now I have something better." Her hand smoothed across his cheek, leaving a bright smear of blood. No matter how much was wiped from her hand, the amount there never lessened. "Much better. Now I have your soul. And I'm hungry." She rose up on her toes and kissed him.  
  
Subaru woke with a gasp. He sat up in bed and stared around the room, this reality no more comforting than the last.  
  
But the blankets smelled of Seishirou, just as most things in the house did. This gave him an odd sense of morbid comfort. All he had left of the man that had shaped his life. Just old memories. Memories and his own reflection.  
  
He stumbled from the bed and into the adjoining bathroom, and flipped on the light. He splashed water on his face, trying desperately to wash away the feel of blood. When he looked up, his reflection told him plainly that there never really was blood on his face, no matter how real it had felt.  
  
He looked at himself and thought of a deer in headlights. His own mismatched eyes pinned him in place. He wasn't yet used to his own reflection. Wasn't used to Seishirou staring back at him in some odd way. After all, he had only accepted Seishirou's parting Wish the morning before.  
  
He reached out one hand and touched his reflection in the mirror, finger caressing over the image of his honey brown right eye. There would be no more sleep tonight. He turned and left the bathroom. On his way out of the bedroom, he picked up the comforter from the bed.  
  
Once in the living room, he wrapped the blanket around himself and stretched out on the sofa, facing out into the room and watching the Siamese Fighting Fish swim lazily around the bowl. For a moment Subaru's eyes skipped over the fish to light on the ceremonial tanto resting inside its sheath. It rested in a stand designed for displaying such things. And it was his.  
  
He couldn't help but recognize it. He had consecrated it and used it in his jitsu countless times as a young teen. He also remembered the day it broke. The poor faithful item just hadn't been able to take the strain he had put on it. Seishirou had been there, inexplicably, to rescue him that day. He had thought the weapon lost in the ensuing chaos, but apparently it had been found, just not by him.  
  
If he were to reach over and draw it from its sheath, the blade would come out in two pieces, just like his heart. He watched the fish until the light of false dawn filled the room in its almost eerie, ambient glow. This had always been his favorite time of day, when there was no light or dark. Things were allowed to be as they truly were.  
  
Which maybe made it worse. The truth of the matter was that Seishirou had at least been as obsessed with Subaru as Subaru had been with him. The broken knife on the table was proof of that. But the more important and more glaring truth was that Sakurazuka Seishirou was dead and Subaru simply didn't know what to do.  
  
IDid he have to confess with his dying breath?/I Subaru was working on getting angry about that, but it would take a while. The words still carved too large of a hole in his heart.  
  
When true dawn arrived, he rose from the sofa, fed the fish, of which there were actually several scattered throughout the house, and then settled in the kitchen to set water over for tea and smoke a cigarette. Out of all the pets that were available, Seishirou picked a homicidal one. Someday Subaru would find it funny. Today was not that day.  
  
Soon he had his cup of tea and was trying again to pretend to read one of the novels that had been lying around. If nothing else, the book put him to sleep.  
  
Breaking glass woke him from a dream in which Seishirou had been trying to speak to him, but couldn't make himself heard over the wind filled with blood, sakura, and a woman's seductive yet cruel voice. Immediately he dropped to the floor and dug a few ofuda from his pocket. He absently noted that he had spilled tea all over himself and the sofa and he carefully peeked around it to get a look at the intruder.  
  
Jeans, black T-shirt, sexy sunglasses. Of course Fuuma was too good for things like doors and doorbells. Mundane entries were beneath him, Subaru thought, as he quickly counted out the right number of ofuda. Only grand entrances, right through the sliding balcony door.  
  
"Did you miss me, Subaru-kun?"  
  
"Don't ever call me that." He let loose the ofuda and the spell as he snarled out the words. It only took a second to realize something had gone wrong. Fuuma was still standing, hair not even ruffled. Subaru pondered the problem. He should have felt the familiar pull of energy from his soul; instead, all he got was a wave of unbalancing dizziness.  
  
Point three seconds later, he was done pondering. Fuuma had brushed the broken glass from his clothes and stepped inside. If magic wouldn't work, Subaru's mind leapt to the next logical option: physical force. The dark 'Kamui' wasn't allowed to just smash windows and waltz into his home. Into Seishirou's home. Without turning, Subaru snatched up his knife from the table. It may have been broken, but it was still sharp. In a practiced motion, he drew it from its sheath and held it so the dull edge lay along his arm. Then he launched himself over the sofa at a thoroughly unconcerned Fuuma.  
  
The teen merely raised one hand and let the energy gather there as Subaru came toward him, then at the last second released it, sending Subaru slamming into a nearby wall. The knife dropped from nerveless fingers and he tried to get to his feet. Fuuma slowly advanced. The force of the blow had dizzied Subaru so badly that the floor and the ceiling seemed to be interchangeable in his vision.  
  
By the time he managed to focus again, Fuuma was right on top of him. Before he could assimilate the situation, Fuuma reached out and slammed his head sharply into the wall. The world spiraled down into unrivaled black.  
  
*#*#*#*  
  
Fuuma let the Sumeragi slump over onto the floor while looking around. Seishirou really Uhad/U been a classy guy. He had also been crazy.  
  
"Either crazy or in love," Fuuma mused out loud while prying the broken tanto out of Subaru's desperate grip. "Look at this stuff." He wandered aimlessly around, poking at things and examining pictures. The place had been decorated in pale earth tones. Brown and creams. The sofa was mocha coloured leather. The TV and stereo sat on a heavy and highly polished stand. The walls were white, and there were potted plants and Siamese Fighting fish scattered about where light from the large windows would reach them.  
  
Fuuma took all of this in while idly flipping the broken knife. The nice décor wasn't what made him crazy. It was the framed photographs and odd bits of keepsakes scattered about. Most of the pictures had Subaru in them. Some were just of him alone, both as a teen and as an adult. Some others had Hokuto in them and Seishirou himself.  
  
Fuuma trailed through the apartment running his fingers over the furniture and tapping the knife. "Never knew you were so obsessive about the guy. Seishirou, were you going soft in your old age?" He could almost hear an angry retort to that. He imagined it was what Seishirou would have sniped at him, had he ever said that to Seishirou's face.  
  
"What's this?" What it was, apparently, was a very small picture frame sitting on top of a wooden box on the back of Seishirou's computer desk. The laptop sat dusty and unused. Fuuma picked up the picture. "Well, she's cute." It was a young lady in a white sundress, her long black hair contrasting sharply with it. Her eyes were honey brown and heavy lidded, like she wanted nothing more than to give the photographer a nice slow kiss.  
  
He moved the pictures and opened the box, then began pulling items out. Fortunes from cookies, a few dried flower petals, birthday candles, a few crumpled and used ofuda, a small pair of black silk gloves, and a set of prayer beads. "You really were in love with him." Fuuma could feel the psychic residue on the gloves, ofuda and beads. They all reeked of Sumeragi magic.  
  
Fuuma knew very little about onmyojitsu, and he really didn't care enough to learn more, but one thing he did know was this: if you have something of your enemy's, you can use it against them. This was why he wanted to keep the Sumeragi from the Seals. But the point here was that if Seishirou had had all of this and had never used the connection from them to the Sumeragi, then they really were keepsakes.  
  
It was sort of cute, in a true-love-obsessive-stalkeresque way. Somehow it made him think about Kamui.  
  
He didn't want to think about his twin star. That always made him feel an uncomfortable mix of emotions he would really rather avoid.  
  
With avoidance in mind, he put the Sumeragi over his shoulder and stepped out into the waking day.  
  
#*#*#*  
  
Sometimes this whole Dreaming thing could get really boring. Now was not one of those times. Today the venue was the Seaside. It was one of his favorite Dreamscapes, but he could never quite get the ocean smell right. A price he paid for never having been there in person.  
  
Kakyou arranged himself artistically on the rock he was sitting on and waited for Fuuma's approach. He knew the 'Kamui' was in the Dreamscape. He brought with him this sort of hum, like too much voltage traveling through a power line.  
  
"So why didn't you tell me that Seishirou was a nut case?"  
  
"Because I didn't know?" Kakyou leaned back on his hand, looking up at Fuuma, wind playing gently with his hair. Fuuma stood in his traditional black t-shirt and jeans. His sunglasses were propped up on top of his head.  
  
"How could you not know? You seem to know everything else." He looked around, but aside from Kakyou's rock, the beach was clear. "Could I get a beach chair maybe?"  
  
"Maybe." Another rock appeared. Fuuma seemed to take a moment to consider and find the rock acceptable.  
  
"Seriously. How could you not know he was completely obsessed? I bet he used to dream in Sumeragi." He settled on the large rock, pulling one knee up.  
  
"He had wards up specifically to keep me out."  
  
"He could do that?"  
  
"Any of the Seals or Angels could if they wanted to or knew how." Kakyou tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.  
  
"I thought you were the most powerful yumemi the world has ever seen."  
  
"Most likely, but that doesn't mean they or you have less power than me." Kakyou paused, analyzing Fuuma's questions. "Shouldn't you know all of this?"  
  
Fuuma shrugged. "I dunno. Why would I know it all?"  
  
"Because you are our 'Kamui'."  
  
"Nah. That really doesn't mean shit, except that I got fucked over by fate and have more power than I know what to do with." He lay back on his rock staring up at the sky. "So no one else can keep you out?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Not even that blind doll the Seals have?"  
  
"I've got that bitch pegged."  
  
Fuuma sat up suddenly. "Kakyou, you swore."  
  
"Why is this a shock?"  
  
"You just didn't strike me as the swearing type."  
  
Kakyou shrugged, intent on enjoying the breeze.  
  
"It doesn't smell right, you know." Fuuma lay back down.  
  
"I know, but all I have to go on is someone else's memory from about ten years ago."  
  
"Must have been a strong memory." Fuuma was now watching the waves almost listlessly.  
  
"Vibrant just like the rest of her." Kakyou gave up on his artistic pose, giving in to a mild and comfortable feeling of depression. He pulled his knees up and, with arms wrapped around his legs, rested his chin on them.  
  
"I smell a tragic love story."  
  
"It was, I assure you."  
  
"Twisted love stories seem to be in fashion today. Who was she?"  
  
"Sumeragi Hokuto."  
  
Fuuma sat up to look at him with a smile. "Well, at least now I know why you would never talk to the man."  
  
"Could you maybe be done inflicting yourself upon my privacy for the day?" Kakyou raised an eyebrow at the younger man. Fuuma made a note to learn how to do that as soon as possible.  
  
"Oh, I suppose, if it will make you happy."  
  
"Debatable."  
  
"Fine. Be pissy." He stood and brushed sand from his clothes. His suspicion that Kakyou had done that on purpose was confirmed by the slight smirk on the man's face. "Well, anyway, this is what the ocean smells like." The hum of Fuuma's power filled the Dreamscape for the briefest of time possible, leaving in its wake the distinctive smell of the seaside and Fuuma's absence.  
  
#*#*#*  
  
Wakefulness returned slowly, but not slowly enough to suit Subaru. He would have liked to stay asleep, or preferably dead. Whether the death wish was due to his pounding head or depression over his whole existence remained to be determined. He decided he would think about it when he could, indeed, manage to think.  
  
For now he finally gave in to the urge that he had been suppressing since Seishirou's death. Subaru crawled into the corner of the bare little windowless room, curled himself into a very small ball, and cried his eyes and heart out into the silence. Eventually the tears stopped and only a moment later, so did he. He was still breathing, but as far as he was concerned, that didn't really count as life. It was a just a minor detail. He could fix that problem later. To live meant to fight, and all the fight has quite simply gone out of him.  
  
He slumped sideways into the wall, slid to the floor, and once again subsided into unconsciousness.  
  
#*#*# 


End file.
